


Five People Jason Todd More or Less Didn't Hate

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Canon bends to my whim.  Gratuitous references to Batman Begins and The Batman.





	Five People Jason Todd More or Less Didn't Hate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cero_ate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cero_ate/gifts).

> Canon bends to my whim. Gratuitous references to Batman Begins and The Batman.

Dick was Bruce’s favorite.  
  
Oh, sure, Jason knew that Dick liked to bitch and moan about the fact that Bruce hadn’t adopted him the way he’d adopted Jason, but if Dick honestly couldn’t tell that Bruce loved him far and away more than the old man loved anyone else, then Dick Grayson was a fucking moron.  
  
Which, based on everything else Jason knew about the man, was a likely possibility.  
  
Still, it got to be pretty annoying to always be compared to the sainted first son. Listening to Bruce drone on and on about all that Dick had done, and all that he _wouldn’t_ really grated on Jason’s nerves. It also made him really want to find something that he was better at than Grayson so that he could know that he’d bested Saint Dick at least once.  
  
That probably explained well why he was here, grabbing fists full of red hair as the man above him drove home the newsflash that hey, fucking another guy could be enjoyable, as opposed to all the times it hadn’t been.  
  
Because in that moment, Jason was holding on to something that didn’t belong to Dick, but was something Dick very much wanted, if Jason had read the signals right. Considering that Grayson was about as subtle in his lust for the redhead as the Joker was sane, Jason was pretty sure he had. Jason didn’t know why Dick and Roy _weren’t_ fuck buddies, when it was rather obvious that it was in the top ten list of things Dick wanted. Jason really didn’t care about the reasons, either.  
  
All that really mattered was that Roy Harper _knew_ that Jason wasn’t Dick, but didn’t seem to think that was such a goddamn crime. Moreover, he was apparently fucking Jason _because_ he wasn’t Dick.  
  
As Jason looked up at the blissful expression on Harper’s face, he wondered what hurt and jealousy would look like on Dick’s face for a change. For the first time since taking on the role of Robin, Jason was suddenly very happy that he wasn’t Dick Grayson.  
******  
  
  
At best, Jason thought that Superman was a idealist dork who had no idea how things worked in the real world. At worst. . . well, it was probably best not to think such things with Superman standing right there next to him, just in case the freak happened to have Super Telepathy, or some such other crap. Bruce swore he didn’t, but Jason figured there were probably a lot of things Bruce didn’t know about Superman. Because surely even Superman wasn’t stupid enough to tell someone - even Batman - all his secrets.  
  
That would have left him weak and vulnerable. Superman was a lot of things, and most of them Jason didn’t care for, but he wasn’t _weak_.  
  
After all, no one who was weak could have ever talked back to Batman the way Superman currently was. No one who was weak could have purposely drove Bruce to visibly gritting his teeth. It truly did take balls of steel to stand there, know he was agitating _Batman_ and continue doing it all _on purpose_ while Bruce looked ever closer to finally snapping and loosing whatever remaining marbles he had.  
  
In the midst of his mission to drive Batman crazy, Superman turned to look at Jason. Glancing down at him, Superman’s eyes twinkled with good humor and something that looked far more wicked than he'd ever given Superman credit for.  
  
Maybe Jason was going to have to revise that idealist dork theory.  
*******  
  
  
Jason took the bowl somewhat hesitantly from Grayson, fully expecting it to be full of something nice and _vulgar_ like Raisin Bran or that nasty whole grain wheat stuff that Bruce preferred. Because as much as he didn’t know about the man who’s apartment he was currently in, he was willing to bet a large sum of money that Saint Dick ate all that healthy shit.  
  
Needless to say, Jason was rather surprised at the actual contents. "Froot Loops?" It was an appropriate cereal choice for their family, but not one he’d expected.  
  
Grayson sat down on the couch beside him, cradling his own bowl. "Yeah. Is that okay? It’s the only cereal I have left. I um, sort of forgot to go to the store yesterday."  
  
"Yeah. Froot Loops is fine."  
  
"Are you sure? If you want something else, I can try to cook."  
  
"Dude, don’t stress. Froot loops is fine. I just didn’t expect -" _Not to hate you_, he didn't say. Even Jason knew that probably would sound rude, and he was pretty sure that being rude to Batman’s favorite would get him into a hell of a lot of trouble. But Grayson was still looking at him like he expected Jason to finish his sentence. So Jason shrugged and offered lamely, "Thanks."  
  
Dick grinned and shoved a spoonful of Froot Loops into his mouth. Between crunches, he said, somewhat apologetically, "Cocoa Puffs are better."  
  
Jason watched as a little dribble of milk rolled down Grayson’s chin. He’d expected a lot of things from Saint Dick, but he’d never imagined him to be so. . . normal.  
  
Though, really, Jason supposed that wasn’t the sort of thing Bruce would have mentioned, so maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised after all.  
*******  
  
  
From his spot on the oversized bed - fuck, someone really needed to explain to Wayne the idea of "less is more" - Jason glared at his stupid sprained ankle as Alfred secured the bandages.  
  
One week. One lousy week into training with Batman, and he’d already injured himself enough to require bed rest. Worst of all, it had been _during_ training, not while in battle with any bad guys.  
  
His career as Robin was not getting off to a very good start.  
  
"Is there anything else you need, Master Jason?"  
  
"No, Al. I don’t need anything." Outside of some meta ability to heal quickly. That would have been nice.  
  
Jason shoved the stupid blankets that were trying to swallow him whole away from his face and scowled. Did they have to be white blankets, too? That just seemed wrong, on a level that Jason couldn’t quite explain.  
  
Unfortuantely, in the process of saving himself from drowning in the blankets, Jason’s ankle came into contact with the foot of the bed. Jason didn’t scream, and he didn’t cry, but he did let loose several profanities that had been perfectly at home on street, but visibly made Alfred wince.  
  
Oops. "Um, sorry about the F Bomb, Al. And the other bombs, too."  
  
"It’s quite understandable, Master Jason, considering the pain you must be experiencing. That is quite a nasty wound and will take some time to heal."  
  
"It would heal faster if I could walk on it," Jason grumbled. "Weak things don’t get stronger by coddling them. Staying in this stupid bed won‘t do anything but drive me crazy."  
  
To his surprise, Alfred actually chuckled. Huh. Maybe the old guy was as crazy as Wayne. Jason’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Alfred clarified, "I apologize, Master Jason. But for a moment, you reminded me of Master Bruce."  
  
Jason didn’t see how that was even remotely possible. "How’s that?"  
  
"Many years ago, Master Bruce took a spill in the garden behind the manor, which resulted in several fractures. He was no more pleased about being stuck in bed than you are."  
  
Jason was able to roughly translate "spill" to "fall," but he had no idea how a little fall in the garden managed to hurt Batman. Ignoring that, he focused on what was really important. "You must have a lot of stories you could tell about him."  
  
"Indeed I do, and perhaps someday I shall share more of them with you. In the meantime, are you certain there’s nothing else I can get you? Some cookies, perhaps?"  
  
"Can I have nachos instead?"  
  
"Of course."  
*******  
  
  
Subduing the intruder into his territory was far easier than he’d ever expected. Given her connections and upbringing, he’d expected the kid to be far, far better at fighting than she actually was. It was unfortunate for her that he’d been wrong about that.  
  
Still, it’d been a boring day, and Jason saw no reason not to humor himself. "What were you thinking, girl, coming into my territory alone without the protection of your Titan friends?"  
  
She could have at least brought the new Robin. Jason rather enjoyed toying with Saint Dick’s baby girl.  
  
The knife was dangerously close to Speedy - _Dart’s_ throat, and the pressure of his palm was making it difficult for her to speak, but she managed to spit out, "I want your help."  
  
It was ridiculous. He’d been a Titan enemy for as long as the new roundup had existed. He’d never considered _them_ an enemy, of course, but that didn't stop their damn do-gooder selves from trying to get in the way of what he knew to be right. He supposed it wasn’t entirely their fault that they had weak DNA.  
  
Really, he should have simply slit Dart’s throat. But she wasn’t evil, and contrary to popular belief, Jason did have a code of honor. Besides, it’d been a while since someone had wanted his _help._ "Make it fast," he ordered.  
  
He listened as she ground out a sob story about her crazy brother, the one with the ridiculous code name, and how none of the Titans were able to stop him. He rolled his eyes as she asked him to train her.  
  
"I know your lineage, Dart," he reminded her. "You’ve already been trained by the best."  
  
"None of them _kill_."  
  
"Is that what you want me to train you how to do? Because the method is really rather easy." He pressed the knife in a little deeper, trying to shake off the memory of someone telling him it was easier to kill than to choose not to kill. "And doesn’t that go against your little code?"  
  
"It takes one to know one," Dart offered by way of explanation, completely ignoring his question. "And I need to know the Cheshire Cat. Otherwise he‘ll kill all of them."  
  
He wondered if he was getting soft in his old age. But he couldn’t help but be truly impressed by the complete lack of fear Dart displayed with a knife pressed next to her Carotid. Not only was she willing to do whatever it took to stop the bad guy, she was fearless.  
  
She’d make one hell of a partner, something Jason hadn’t had for a long, long time. For that reason alone, he agreed to her request.  



End file.
